


won't say i'm in love

by JaguarCello



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:29:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarCello/pseuds/JaguarCello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there are some things which are secret for national security, and there are some things that are secret because James Bond is an idiot</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't say i'm in love

“Are you there?” Q said, his voice clear through the crackle of headset and gunfire, and the pain that was screaming through his head. “James?” he heard again, and he blinked, and reloaded, slotting the magazine in as if his hands were not soaked with someone else’s blood.

“I’m here,” he said, and shot a masked man in the chest; the man slumped to the floor, mask slipping, and James thought absurdly of the way water gurgled down the plughole. The man  -Orlov, said the file sitting on a desk back in London -  was affiliated with various terrorist organisations around the globe and was drowning on his own blood.

 James shot him again and the gurgling stopped.

He looked down the corridor, at the potted plants and the grand piano tucked around the corner, and decided he was getting too old for this. “Orlov’s down, but Volkov went across the roof. In pursuit,” he said over the radio, and then leaped for the window, hurling himself through the glass, and found himself in the bright Moscow sunshine.

 “Are those their real names?” said Q cheerfully, and then James heard the flicker of keys. “Okay, you’re somehow on the roof of the Baltschug Kempinski, so do try not to damage anything,” he added, and then paused. James looked across the domes of the Kremlin, and at the flag fluttering in the light breeze.

“It feels odd to be in Russia during the summer,” he said, as he shimmied down a drain-pipe. “As if,” he went on, edging his way across a window-pane, “As if for me, Russia only exists when it’s snowing and I get ice in my beard if I don’t bother to shave,” and then he was silent for a while, making his way carefully down the side of the building. It felt like jumping the roofs at Eton, and for a second he was back there in the freezing classroom conjugating endless verbs, but then his hand slipped on a balcony-rail and his feet hit the cobbles with a thud. “Ouch,” he said.

“007?” Q asked, far more calmly than James knew he would be.

“A quick slip down memory lane,” he replied, and raced around the corner, lungs bursting and legs burning in the sun. Moscow was beautiful, he had always thought –beautiful but deadly, he added to himself as he spotted a man limping through the crowds in the Red Square, face drawn in pain. “I’ve found Volkov,” he said, and Q hissed slightly.

“We need him gone,” he said, simply, and James imagined him impassive at his desk. “He will force through this arms deal, and _glasnost_ will be just a word used in pub quizzes. Not that I’ve been to any, but I can imagine what they’re like.”

“The FSB are going to have a field day when they find out we’re here,” James said, and then shrugged, sped up his walk, and said “Привет”. There was a pause as Volkov garbled “Пожалуйста,” far more loudly than could have been subtle, and James watched his face turn to puce.

Volkov looked around at the passers-by, and James stepped closer to him until he could feel the other man’s breath soft on his cheek. “Я самый счастливый человек на Земле, потому что у меня есть ты,” he said, and punched Volkov in the face. “Volkov down,” he added brightly, and stabbed him through the heart, just to make sure.

“The heart?” Q said, and James heard him typing again. “Predictable,” and there was a flurry of keys again.

“Well,” James said, “the way to a man’s heart is through the chest with something stronger than he is.” He hooked his hands under Volkov’s armpits, and started to drag him behind a car.

“And they say romance is dead,” Q said simply, and sniffed; James tried to pretend he wasn’t laughing at that, and ducked out of sight down a side street, and got into the car that met him; he slept for a very long time.

 

 The sun was hidden by grey clouds in London, as usual, and the Thames was dark and brooding when James headed into Vauxhall Cross. M was sat at his desk – and that still troubled James, the way his M had died in a tiny chapel, a martyr’s death – and as James walked in, he raised one eyebrow.

“To summarise your _adventures_ , you shot a man inside one of the most expensive hotels in Moscow, and from the roof clambered down the outside, frightening the maids. You then pursued Volkov through Red Square, the busiest bloody area in the whole country, and stabbed him – _stabbed an FSB man_ – in front of the official residence of the President of Russia. You may have contained the leak, but God knows what else Edward Snowden might release, apart from utter crap – and you also took time out of your mission to flirt with the quartermaster.” He looked down at his files. “Oh, and you also crashed a taxi – “

“With respect, sir, I did the job,” James said, and M nodded as one nods at a small child.

“Yes, 007, but you also left a load of bloody fingerprints everywhere. Not literally, of course, but even so – this deal cannot go through. We get into bed with the Russians, we risk everything – we cannot share intelligence, weaponry, aircraft with people who think they can walk into areas of Europe and claim it for themselves,” he said, and paused for breath. “The deal won’t go through now, of course, so I suppose this is a Pyrrhic victory,” and he shut the file.

 James got the message, and left.

“Don’t start,” he muttered to Eve, who had smirked at him from behind her desk. “He criticised Russian imperialism and then he drinks tea – _tea_ , which lost us the Empire – “

“You completed the mission,” she reminded him. “He’s just worried that he’ll have to have another photo opportunity with Putin, because that means he’ll have to go to the gym more,” and at that he smirked back. “Now, go and see your boyfriend,” and she nudged him out the door.

He sighed at that, thinking of a warm bath and Q’s clever hands and sleeping curled up with him, and turned on his heel to the lifts.

“You’re busy tonight,” Q said as he approached, not looking up from his screen. “You’ve some dreadful occasion for Fettes pupils – I must say, it’s rather amusing to imagine you at school with Tony Blair, but then you went to Eton for two terms so are you better pals with Cameron?”

“I’m not going,” James said, and at that Q looked up. “I thought we could have a quiet night in, actually – “

“007, having a _quiet night_? Did you get hit in the head? Did you get shot and haven’t told me, again? You know I’ll see the bulletholes – you _did_ , didn’t you?” Q said, sounding delighted but trying to frown.

“Only my shoulder,” James said, grudgingly, and Q stood up and kissed him on the nose, standing on tip-toes to do so.

“I’ll see you later, then?” he said, and Q smiled.

“I’ll be there,” he said, and then pointed to James’s chest, where his heart threatened to give away the strength of his feelings for Q. “And here,” he added, and James tried not to roll his eyes.

“Piss off back to your machines,” he said, and kissed him.


End file.
